“Jonathan Nelson, the current owner of Seascape Inn, is Collin and Cecelia’s grandson. Did you know that, Suzie?” She nodded she didn’t, and Miss Hattie went on. “Oh my, yes. He’s a judge in Atlanta now, but his heart is always at Seascape. Why, he’d never part with anything from here—which is why your dad must be especially careful with Collin’s cane.”
“Daddy will, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will,” Bryce said. Miss Hattie sounded pleased about Jonathan’s feelings about Seascape and everything in it, and Bryce supposed it natural she would be. According to Maggie and T.J., Miss Hattie had worked at and lived in the old inn most of her life. “The cane will help me maneuver until this knee gets better.” True, even if the idea of Caline’s seeing him limping did grate a little at his male ego. But vanity didn’t hold a candle to comfort in keeping up with three active kids.
“Of course it will, dear.” Miss Hattie wiped at a splash of water on the countertop.
“Mr. Richards, dismissing Jeremy hardly qualifies as punishment—”
“I understand your position, Mrs. Wiggins,” Bryce gritted out from between his teeth, watching the woman right her toppled chair.
“Mr. Richards?” Caline still stood in the doorway, clasping one each of two of his children’s hands. “I hate to interrupt yet again, but I really do need to get my things out of Miss Hattie’s entryway. They’re blocking the door.” She nodded toward Suzie, then Jeremy. “Do you mind if we go on up now?”
“Not at all.” Bryce fingered his knee. It was swelling already.
“You can’t mean to let the boy get away with this, too!” Mrs. Wiggins snarled, muttered, then girded her verbal loins and cut loose with her rhetoric. “Mrs. Richards, may she rest in peace”—the battleaxe crossed herself—“was extremely explicit in her instructions regarding discipline. Jeremy must be punished for this.”
“And he will be. Just not right now.” Bryce raked a weary hand through his hair. “Right now, he’s going to assist Caline with her luggage.”
Caline flashed him a quick smile that set his heart to thumping, then hurried Suzie and Jeremy through the gallery at a good clip, heading toward the stairs as if she half feared Bryce would change his mind and call them back to punish Jeremy now, anyway.
Bryce didn’t much like that, either. But he admired it. The grandfather clock ticked loudly, then chimed once. He did not, however, admire his physical reaction to the woman. And in the things he didn’t like regarding her, this reaction he liked least of all.
Mrs. Wiggins frowned. “I’d be remiss in my duties if I didn’t oppose.”
“Your opposition is noted.” Bryce reached for the dishcloth, resting on the tile countertop. “Now, you’d best see to Lyssie.”
They’d have the devil’s own time getting all the food out of the child’s hair. Did orange juice stain as badly as chlorine?
Poor Lyssie’d had green hair most of the summer. It’d finally gotten back to normal around Halloween—right after picture day at her day care center. His knee aching, he swiped at the high chair’s tray. With his luck, she’d have orange hair for Thanksgiving. His parents would get a real kick out of that. And he’d again feel like a Class A failure of a parent. He blew out a sigh reeking of frustration. “Animal crackers.”
Muttering her feelings on that substitution, Mrs. Wiggins lifted Lyssie from the high chair and then took her upstairs. From the set of her shoulders, he fully expected another resignation before noon.
Miss Hattie jiggled her reading glasses until they settled inside her apron’s pocket. “Animal crackers?”
“Lyssie repeats everything. Jeremy, too,” Bryce explained. “I’m sorry for all this mess, Miss Hattie. I’m not sure what I can do about your rose clippings, but if you’ll toss me that sponge, I’ll get busy cleaning up here.”
“Don’t worry, dear. This will
“Daddy will, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will,” Bryce said. Miss Hattie sounded pleased about Jonathan’s feelings about Seascape and everything in it, and Bryce supposed it natural she would be. According to Maggie and T.J., Miss Hattie had worked at and lived in the old inn most of her life. “The cane will help me maneuver until this knee gets better.” True, even if the idea of Caline’s seeing him limping did grate a little at his male ego. But vanity didn’t hold a candle to comfort in keeping up with three active kids.
“Of course it will, dear.” Miss Hattie wiped at a splash of water on the countertop.
“Mr. Richards, dismissing Jeremy hardly qualifies as punishment—”
“I understand your position, Mrs. Wiggins,” Bryce gritted out from between his teeth, watching the woman right her toppled chair.
“Mr. Richards?” Caline still stood in the doorway, clasping one each of two of his children’s hands. “I hate to interrupt yet again, but I really do need to get my things out of Miss Hattie’s entryway. They’re blocking the door.” She nodded toward Suzie, then Jeremy. “Do you mind if we go on up now?”
“Not at all.” Bryce fingered his knee. It was swelling already.
“You can’t mean to let the boy get away with this, too!” Mrs. Wiggins snarled, muttered, then girded her verbal loins and cut loose with her rhetoric. “Mrs. Richards, may she rest in peace”—the battleaxe crossed herself—“was extremely explicit in her instructions regarding discipline. Jeremy must be punished for this.”
“And he will be. Just not right now.” Bryce raked a weary hand through his hair. “Right now, he’s going to assist Caline with her luggage.”
Caline flashed him a quick smile that set his heart to thumping, then hurried Suzie and Jeremy through the gallery at a good clip, heading toward the stairs as if she half feared Bryce would change his mind and call them back to punish Jeremy now, anyway.
Bryce didn’t much like that, either. But he admired it. The grandfather clock ticked loudly, then chimed once. He did not, however, admire his physical reaction to the woman. And in the things he didn’t like regarding her, this reaction he liked least of all.
Mrs. Wiggins frowned. “I’d be remiss in my duties if I didn’t oppose.”
“Your opposition is noted.” Bryce reached for the dishcloth, resting on the tile countertop. “Now, you’d best see to Lyssie.”
They’d have the devil’s own time getting all the food out of the child’s hair. Did orange juice stain as badly as chlorine?
Poor Lyssie’d had green hair most of the summer. It’d finally gotten back to normal around Halloween—right after picture day at her day care center. His knee aching, he swiped at the high chair’s tray. With his luck, she’d have orange hair for Thanksgiving. His parents would get a real kick out of that. And he’d again feel like a Class A failure of a parent. He blew out a sigh reeking of frustration. “Animal crackers.”
Muttering her feelings on that substitution, Mrs. Wiggins lifted Lyssie from the high chair and then took her upstairs. From the set of her shoulders, he fully expected another resignation before noon.
Miss Hattie jiggled her reading glasses until they settled inside her apron’s pocket. “Animal crackers?”
“Lyssie repeats everything. Jeremy, too,” Bryce explained. “I’m sorry for all this mess, Miss Hattie. I’m not sure what I can do about your rose clippings, but if you’ll toss me that sponge, I’ll get busy cleaning up here.”
“Don’t worry, dear. This will
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